Chapter 10: The Opposite
The transformation of the cave into a bustling fortress by the Duwende was nothing short of remarkable. Their skills in illusion magic had turned the once dark and foreboding cave into a vibrant and well-organized hub of activity. Within the cave's confines, various sections had been set up to serve different purposes.
An armory brimmed with weaponry and armor ensured that the students had access to defend themselves if needed. Nearby, a food storage area had been established, stocked with provisions to sustain the group during their uncertain journey. A cleverly created illusion of a water fountain provided a convenient source of hydration.
Lucian dutifully guarded the cave's entrance, his sharp senses and warrior instincts making him an excellent sentry. His presence at the mouth of the cave served as a deterrent to any potential threats lurking outside.
Meanwhile, Thailos took on the strategist role, working diligently in the war room alongside other students. Their task was to plan and strategize for the challenges that lay ahead. It was an essential endeavor to ensure the safety and navigation of the group through this mystical realm.
The return of Geralt brought a mixture of relief and despair to the group within the fortress. Relief, because he had returned safely, and despair because El was nowhere to be seen. As the students gathered around to hear Geralt's account of what had transpired, worry etched their faces.
Raven and Tabitha, in particular, were stricken with grief. Raven's tears flowed freely as she knelt on the ground, consumed by helplessness and guilt. "I should have gone with him," she lamented, her voice trembling with regret.
Lucian, who had often clashed with El, was unexpectedly concerned about his whereabouts. The harrowing encounter with Mananangals and Pantianacs had shown El's bravery, and even he couldn't deny the courage it took for El to divert the enemy's attention away from Geralt and Professor Galahad.
Geralt, with his characteristic stoicism, provided an explanation of the events that had unfolded. He recounted how they had been pursued, and El had chosen to lead the enemy away to ensure Geralt and Professor Galahad's safety.
"Please attend to Sir Galahad," Geralt requested, recognizing the urgency of the situation. Medics promptly moved to care for the wounded professor, their skills honed by the Duwende's magical talents.
"I'm sure he'll come back," Geralt reassured, placing a comforting hand on Raven and Tabitha's shoulders.
Thai went out of the war room and surveyed the situation. His heart was heavy with worry for El, but he knew that he couldn't let his emotions consume him. He had a mission to complete – finishing the map and finding a safe route to the enchanted tree.
As he stepped outside, he spotted Geralt, who wore a somber expression. Thai approached him, a sense of foreboding settling in his chest. "El?" Thai asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Geralt simply shook his head, and Thai's heart sank. The worry for his friend intensified, but Thai knew he had to stay focused. "Where is he?" Thai inquired, his voice steady despite the anxiety gnawing at him.
"Your father is in the infirmary," Geralt replied, his tone grave. Thai's concern for El warred with his sense of duty, but he made a quick decision. El was tough, and his father needed him now. "I'll go see my father first, and then we'll figure out our next steps," Thai said firmly.
Meanwhile, El awoke to the sensation of cold water splashing onto him in a prison cell outside the Capitol. It was an abrupt and harsh awakening, leaving him disoriented and shivering in the dimly lit cell. As his senses slowly returned, he began to take stock of his surroundings.
Confusion and a sense of vulnerability washed over him as he tried to piece together where he was. "Where am I?" he croaked, his voice laced with uncertainty.
The Aswang responsible for the rude awakening seemed more interested in extracting information than providing answers. "Why would he ask where he is? He should ask if he's even alive," a Pantianac companion chimed in, their words accompanied by cruel laughter. El's head spun with the unanswered questions that swirled around him.
The Aswang, undeterred by El's disorientation, continued to press for information about the hideout's location. El, however, remained steadfast in his determination to stay silent, despite the physical abuse he endured. A sharp blow to his face from the Pantianac only reaffirmed his resolve.
A surprising interruption occurred when it seemed like the relentless interrogation might stretch on indefinitely. A young boy stepped forward, his voice carrying an air of authority as he addressed the Aswang. "Enough," he declared calmly. "Our guest shouldn't be treated this way. Hi, I'm Serpentine. It's a pleasure to meet you, Elysian."
El couldn't help but be taken aback by how this young boy knew his name.
"Oh, I imagine it's quite the shock to discover that I know who you are," Serapentine remarked casually, his tone carrying an air of amusement. He then turned his attention to the guards with a commanding presence. "Guards, fetch a chair and some food for our guest, immediately!" he ordered.
Responding swiftly to Serapentine's commands, the Kapre and Pantianacs rushed to set up a table with food. "Please, do have a seat," Serapentine said politely, gesturing toward the prepared meal.
El remained silent, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of the situation. His heart pounded in his chest as he listened to Serapentine's words.
"You see," Serpentine continued conversationally, "I've been observing you for quite some time. I've watched your daily life unfold, from the rigorous swordsmanship training your foster father provided to the magical tutelage under your foster mother's guidance. And I must say, I particularly enjoyed the spectacle of you shattering that boy Lucian's shield. Yet, here you are, sitting at the table of your supposed enemy." His words hung in the air, laden with intrigue and unspoken questions.
"Foster Father, Foster Mother? Sirius and Lyria are my parents!" El's voice trembled with anger and disbelief. "Do not speak their names. When I get out of this, I will make you pay for your insolence," he vowed, his eyes burning with a fierce determination.
Serpentine chuckled, his laughter filled with mockery as he taunted El. "Oh, you truly don't know, do you? How intriguing," he mused. "After all, you were stripped of your rightful place! King Thorian, your cousin, sits on the throne that was meant to be yours. You were destined to be the rightful king, the one who would shine with the light."
A bitter smile twisted Serpentine's lips. "But look at you now, just a pathetic hero-wannabe," he sneered. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he ordered, "Take him back to the dungeon."
El was escorted to a dark and foreboding cell in the lower depths of the dungeon, where his thoughts raced with the weight of the information he had just learned, information that threatened to reshape the course of his destiny.
The morning light filtered into El's dim, cold cell, casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. He couldn't shake the disbelief that had settled in his heart—his entire life had been built on a lie, a deception that had left him feeling lost and betrayed.
As El stared into the dimly lit corner of the room, he noticed a figure slowly emerging from the shadows. His heart raced, fearing it might be another enemy coming to taunt or harm him.
"Who is there?" El's voice quivered as he spoke, his unease palpable. The figure continued to approach, its movements deliberate and unhurried. El braced himself for the worst.
"Your highness," the figure spoke, revealing an elderly man with kind eyes. "I am not your enemy, so fear not."
El's confusion deepened. "Who are you?" he asked, cautiously eyeing the stranger.
The old man smiled gently. "I am Balakwas, the teller of prophecies," he announced, his voice carrying a sense of wisdom and authority. "You are wounded, my dear boy. Please, have some food. It will help replenish your strength."
El hesitated for a moment before accepting the offer, realizing he was famished. As he hungrily ate the offered food, Balakwas began to speak, his words filled with excitement.
"In Biringan's realm, a hero shall arise," Balakwas intoned, his eyes sparkling with fervor. "To wield the 'Malakas Blade' 'neath endless skies, a lineage unknown, destiny untamed, with power dormant, in their name proclaimed."
El listened intently, his heart pounding. "That's me?" he ventured, his voice a mix of astonishment and uncertainty.
Balakwas nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed, young hero. That is you! Now tell me, have you found the Malakas Blade?"
El's expression darkened with frustration. "The Malakas blade? I thought it was just a myth," he admitted, feeling disappointed.
The old prophet chuckled softly. "My dear king, the blade reveals itself when its bearer seeks it earnestly," Balakwas explained. "But first, we must focus on your escape from this place."
El's eyes lit up with hope. "Can you truly get us out of here?" he inquired, his voice tinged with urgency.
Balakwas smiled kindly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Indeed, I can," he replied. "But you must promise me one thing—you will not attempt to escape from me. I may be old, but I have my ways."
El nodded, his gratitude evident. With a wave of Balakwas's hand, a massive void opened before them, and they were transported to a breathtakingly beautiful garden, their escape from the confines of the prison cell complete.
El gazed around the enchanting garden, taking in the vibrant colors and exotic flora surrounding him. The place had an otherworldly beauty that left him in awe.
"Where are we?" El asked, still trying to process the sudden change of scenery.
Balakwas beamed with pride. "This, dear King, is my home," he announced, his voice filled with warmth and nostalgia. "But we have no time for leisurely chats. You must call out for the sword!"
El scratched his head, puzzled. "Call out for the sword? Can't I just cast an enchantment to summon it into my hands?" he inquired, hoping for a more straightforward solution.
The old prophet chuckled at El's naivety. "Oh, my dear boy," Balakwas began, "the Malakas blade is no ordinary sword. It's a sacred weapon passed down through generations. Your father once wielded it and used it to seal the Bakunawa. You are the King's son, are you not?"
El hesitated, his uncertainty evident in his eyes. "I don't know," he admitted with a heavy sigh. "To be honest, I'm not sure who I am anymore. I've believed I was just a farm boy raised in the countryside."
Balakwas fixed El with a knowing gaze. "Silly boy," he said, a playful twinkle in his eye. "Even a farm boy can become a king. You must accept your destiny, young man."
El was more confused than ever. "Wait, before I summon whatever sword it may be, can I ask you, who am I?" he inquired.
"Dear child, your identity is up to you!" Balakwas replied, his voice gentle and reassuring. "You can be the Hero, the rightful king of Biringan, or a farm boy who moved from the city. I cannot tell you who you are; only you can determine that."
"But you addressed me as your highness, and that Serpentine said King Thorian stole my right. So who am I?" El asked, still grappling with the uncertainty of his identity.
"Did I; Did he?" Balakwas playfully countered. "You see, I only addressed you to remind you of your destiny. But who are you, let me ask?" he continued.
"I am Elysian," El replied.
"And so you are," Balakwas confirmed with a knowing smile. Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind swirled around El, and a magnificent sword materialized in his hand. "The sword!" El exclaimed with excitement. "So you are the King," Balakwas reminded, affirming El's newfound connection to his destiny.
"Now, go forth and liberate Biringan! I have informed Thorian that the Rightful King has come!" Balakwas exclaimed. In the blink of an eye, El found himself standing in the refuge of the King, ready to embrace his destiny and fulfill the prophecy.